


Relief

by sarahxxxlovey



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Anxiety, Bughead Smut, Choking, Consensual Kink, Dark Betty Cooper, Dirty Talk, Dom!Juggie, Dom!Jughead, Dom/sub, Dominant, F/M, Jughead Jones is Not Asexual, Light BDSM, Mentioned Archie Andrews, Mentioned Veronica Lodge, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Play, Praise Kink, Smut, Submissive Betty Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 03:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13158243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahxxxlovey/pseuds/sarahxxxlovey
Summary: "'You want me to take care of you?' his words come out half as demand and half as question.It’s what they call it. 'Taking care of her.' Betty knows what it means.Her eyes snap up to his and he sees her eyes darken as she bites her lip in a small, shy, mischievous little smile."Betty is stressed and needs some relief.





	Relief

**Author's Note:**

> TW: BDSM tinged sex (choking, spanking, dirty talk, etc.)

He knows her brain works in a different way than his. For one, it works way more quickly. There are times when she asks what he’s thinking about and his mind is truly blank. When he reciprocates the question, she can list of twenty trails that her thoughts took in the last minute alone.

It’s a blessing and a curse, the velocity at which her brain processes. It helps her see things that others don’t, patterns and connections between seemingly unrelated details. But it also means that her brain doesn’t stop working, even when she closes her eyes and tries to sleep, her brain continues to run scenarios and pathways, tricking her into overthinking.

Sometimes it translates into her snapping at him for no reason. Sometimes she flat out ignores him when the thoughts have taken too much hold on her brain. Sometimes she just has an off day and the stress gets to her but 24 hours later she’s okay. Sometimes, like this week, she ignores it and lets it fester into her home life, into the live they’ve built together.

Tonight, she sits next to him in bed, rereading and rereading an article she’d written for work, trying to find a way to make every word better, stronger. It was Friday, the day that they normally tried to spend some time together, watching a movie or going out or doing something slightly special and out of the ordinary.

He could clearly tell that she was stressed out; it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. She had stayed late when they had plans to watch their favorite TV show together and hadn’t thought to text him, muttering a quick half apology when she got home and all but ignoring him. He had taken off work a half hour early to come home and make one of her favorite dinners, knowing that she was overworked and she’d thanked him with a quick peck on the cheek before taking her plate and barricading herself into the spare bedroom that functioned as their home office. Even now on their Friday night, she was in bed with work at 10 pm.

It wasn’t that he was sensitive to being ignored or underappreciated, although the particular combination he had gotten this week was never nice. It was that he knew her, and when she was like this, it meant that something wasn’t right. She wasn’t taking care of herself; she wasn’t doing what she needed to do to keep her head clear and healthy. He hated seeing her like this, a tightly wound ball of stress with no release and no comfort. He could see the cogs winding, tightening with each minute, pushing her closer towards the edge.

“Betts?” he says softly, trying to break her focus.

“Yes?” she replies absentmindedly, flipping a page of her article and biting her lip, clearly not paying attention to him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs off his questions. “It’s just – nothing.”

“Talk to me, Betty,” he says more sternly, “Relationships require communication, you always say that.”

“I said it’s nothing, I’m fine,” she replies flippantly, rolling her eyes at him. “Leave me alone.”

“Seriously, Betty?” he sighs deeply, already tired of the fight that was bubbling, just wanting his loving fiancée back, “Are we really going to do this? Are we eighteen again?”

She smacks her papers down on her lap and crosses her arms across her chest, giving him a look that says _did you really just say that?_

He refuses to back down, knowing that she needs this.

“Betty, tell me what’s wrong. This isn’t good for you,” Jughead urges. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong! Talk to me, please.”

She sighs shakily and he can see the stress on her face in an instant. Another moment later and her face falls and she’s crying into his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry, Juggy,” she sobs against the fabric of his shirt. “You made my favorite food and I didn’t even notice, let alone even thank you, and I just ignored you this week and—“

“Baby, hey, hey, hey,” he interrupts her with a giant hug, hating that she needed to cry to feel better but sometimes things had to get worse before they became good again, “I’m not mad. I just want you to be okay... and it hasn’t seemed like you are.”

“I worry about work and about being able to save for retirement and about the wedding and how it has to be perfect because everyone’s watching and how I have to be perfect because literally everyone we know will be there and I know it’s silly and I’m not… I’m not doing anything bad but my brain just won’t shut up.” She looks down at her palms shamefully, but the scars there are long healed. 

“Why haven’t you told me sooner?” he asks, running his hands up and down her arms as she cries.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” she admits. "You've had a lot going on too and I thought I could handle it. I thought it wasn't that bad."

“Betty, that’s not how this works. We need to talk to each other. If I don’t know if something’s wrong, how can I help you?”

Her eyes fill with tears and she’s looking up at him with big, sorry eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Juggy,” she sobs into his chest suddenly. “I’ve been so crummy to you, I’m so sorry.”

“Baby, stop, you’re fine,” he comforts, “I just want you to be happy and happy Betty doesn’t treat her hunky, mysterious future hubby like this.” She laughs wetly and cries against her shirt more. He’s happy to hear her laugh.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion and he can practically feel the guilt radiating off of her, “Everyone else seems to juggle it just fine.”

“C’mere, Betts,” he sighs sadly and she looks up at him before climbing into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “We’re a team, okay? Same team, always. Everyone has bad days. Veronica called me last week in a huge tizzy because she thought Archie was going to break up with her.”

Betty looks up at him, confused. “What? That’s absurd.”

“Exactly,” Jughead laughs, “But even people who seem like they have it all together don’t always have it together. You can’t compare yourself to someone else’s highlight reel, you know that.”

“I know,” she sighs, snuggling more and more into his chest and wiping her eyes, seeming to have gained a little bit of grip back on her emotions. “My brain just won’t shut up about how… I don’t know, inadequate, I am.”

“Betts—” he starts.

“It won’t shut up, Juggy,” she interrupts. She looks at him with big green eyes.

“It won’t shut up?” he asks.

“It never shuts up,” she admits, looking down at the long-faded scars on her hands before wrapping her arms around him again and sighing a deep, heavy sigh.

Before he can stop himself, he knows what she needs.

“You want me to take care of you?” his words come out half as demand and half as question.

It’s what they call it. “Taking care of her.” Betty knows what it means.

Her eyes snap up to his and he sees her eyes darken as she bites her lip in a small, shy, mischievous little smile. He hardens instantly beneath them, the look bringing a thousand flashing memories into his mind in a fleeting moment.

“If you think it’ll help,” she says slyly, sexily, breaking their eye contact to look down at the waistband of his PJ pants.

He teases her for a few moments, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lip and then pull away when she tries to deepen it. He does it again and she can’t help the little whimper that escapes from her mouth at the lack of contact.

“You gonna be a good girl for me, baby?” he asks, running his hands down her sides. He can feel her shiver at his words, her body betraying her by wanting to give up control. She wiggled like she was uncomfortable, but he knew better. He knew the look in her eyes, her tiny movements giving him clues.

He places a finger under her chin, lifting her face towards him before he latches onto her neck, licking and kisses the sensitive skin there, placing a bite on her pulse point. She whimpers a small, sad little whimper against his forehead, like her brain is trying to resist what her body wants. He knows the feeling, that moment before you give into what the body wants, when the brain is still grasping for the idea that this is wrong, that normal people don’t like things like this. He sucks harder, hoping to leave red, angry bruises on her perfect skin, to mark her and make her remember this moment when she was wrapped around his finger, submissive to his actions.

It had been a treasure to find, many years ago, that the wires that dictate pleasure and pain were very closely related, even crossing at times, in Betty’s brain. A slap to her ass made her pussy gush, a tug on her hair always elicited a moan. She loved a hand around her throat, catching her breath in its tracks. She liked all sorts of things, the kinds of things that girls in pink sweaters with straight A’s were not supposed to like. She did the kinds of things that cheerleaders were not supposed to do with their gang-member boyfriends.

They’d realized that the lack of control he’d had in his life had made him turned him on to taking control of their sex life, to making her putty in his hands and making her accept it. Likewise, the perfectionism that Betty had strived for her whole life made her desperate for his approval. She loved when he called her a good girl, his perfect Betty Cooper. She preened at his confirmation of her prowess, her skills, her beauty.

“Yes, baby,” she sighs back, the exhale sending shivers down her spine.

“Mmm,” he moans against her neck, biting the skin again, making her moan. “I love you, Betty Cooper.”

“Jughead Jones, I love you,” she pulls his head down for a kiss and when he pulls away, she looks sad and shameful, “I really am sorry, baby.”

“All’s forgotten, baby girl,” he whispers back, feeling like he couldn’t love her any more in that moment, his eyes shining, “I’m going to make you forget all that, okay?”

She nods and gives into his movements when he flips them over, placing her gently on the bed underneath him, settling on top of her with a delicious weight.

He hooks his hands in the waistband of her soft cotton pajama pants, the soft pink floral pattern winking at him and making him think of all the times he snuck up in through her window and into her room to defile her while her parents slept downstairs. He pulls them slowly down her legs and tosses them into the corner before hooking his hands under her knees and spreading her legs slowly.

A pair of lacy black panties stare back at him, her folds peeking through the fabric, betraying how wet she already is.

“You’re so beautiful, Betts,” Jughead breathes against her hip bones, placing soft kisses along the tender skin there, the places that he would later bruise, intentionally or not. For now, he was intent to kiss the skin. “The most beautiful woman in the world. The most beautiful, caring, strong woman in the world.”

She whimpers above him as he praises her before pulling her panties to the side and diving in to lick her folds, running his tongue along her clit. Her hands travel down his shoulders and into his hair, tugging the strands and sending shivers down his spine, scratching his scalp and making him moan against her center. As good as it feels, he wants her to know that he’s in charge. He wants her release and the way to that was to take control and hold onto it even if she begged.

“Baby,” he whispers against her, “Put your hands above your head for me.”

She whimpers again before disentangling her hands from his hair and gripping the slats of their headboard above her, protesting with whine by obeying nonetheless.

“Mmm,” he whispers, tauntingly, approvingly, “Such a good girl.” She wiggles against him, letting out a content little sigh and he sees the ghost of a smile on her face. It turns him on to see her like this, how her smile revealed the way his words excited her, pulled her further down the rabbit hole.

He licks her clit and slides a finger into her, teasing her with gentle touches, resisting the temptation to slide another in and make her cum on his finger, settling now for her struggling to clench around him and give herself more pleasure. He wants to tease her more, make her more desperate.

“You like being my good girl, don’t you, baby?” he teases and the smile blooms on her face despite her trying to hide it. He can’t help but match it, licking her clit again and making her back arch. He loves this side of her, when she gives into her fantasies and lets her body control her brain. Lets _his_ brain control her body. She was there, ready for him to step up and take her.

“Yes, Juggy,” she moans. He slides his finger in and out of her, rubbing her clit in slow circles and kissing her inner thighs. The way she says his name, breathy and hazy, the way her voice makes his pants feel even tighter. He moves his fingers inside her, in the way that he knows will make her squirm and hum for him as he moves up her body to kiss her chest.

“Such a pretty little slut,” he whispers, confident she was to the point in her arousal where she wanted to not just be his good girl. Words held heavy weight for both of them. He can feel her breath hitch under his mouth as she moaned and arches her back, pushing her breast into his mouth, her nipple against his teeth. He bites hard, his canines sharp against the sensitive skin. She moans again.

He loves this side of her, undeniably sexy, oozing confidence and submission all at once. She wiggles and squirms and shakes under him, moving for him in a way that fills his fantasies day and night. In these moments, she is his to mold, to control, to master. Her movements are orchestrated by him, arranged and scored by him. She is his goddess, his Aphrodite, his Venus, the curves of her body a work of art that he admires and maims, applauds and manipulates.

He darkly loves that she trusts him to hurt her, to bite down on her skin until she cries out in pain, and not only just enough to get her off but also to push her boundaries, to make her beg for things she never thought she wanted. A bite here, a smack here, for moments more without her breath. He likes to push her, to make her take just a little bit more than she can handle because he knows she wants to please him. The thought makes him harder, even his stretchy pajama pants confining him in prison-like proportions.

“You wanna cum, baby girl?” he asks and she breaths her confirmation, her back arching again and he leans down and tongues her clit under the black lace, moving in the exact way that she likes. He can feel her coming undone underneath him and his confidence soars at the thought of his fiancée, Betty Cooper, cumming on his fingers. He tells her so and in a moment, she’s undone.

He loves to watch her, her mouth open slightly, her chest heaving, her back arched, her cheeks flushed. She says his name as she finishes and he feels like he’s suffocating, like all the air in the room is made of Betty and he can’t breath unless he’s inside her. She is the gravity keeping him on the ground and he wants nothing more than to be connected at their center. He wiggles her panties down her legs and pushes his boxers and pants down in one swipe, moaning as he frees himself.

“You are the sexiest thing in the entire world, Betts,” he breaths against her neck as he wiggles on top of her, lining himself up with her entrance. “Better than my best fantasy. I swear…”

He loses his train of thought as she runs her fingers through her hair. He gives a happy little sigh as he rubs against her wetness, rubbing his head into her just an inch and teasing her a bit, silently cursing himself for giving in so easily to something as simple as a hand in his hair. He lets her be bad and wrap her arms around him, knowing that after her first orgasm, the bad feelings will sneak back in unless she can touch him, feel close to him, mark him as her own as he has been too.

“Juggy,” she whimpers up to him, “fuck me please.”

“Patience is a virtue, sweetheart,” he says. “You need to get better at patience, you know. I might even make you wait to have it until you’re begging for it.”

She squirms under him, trying to pull his shoulders forward until he thrusts into her and he thanks his lucky stars that she’s not stronger than he is; teasing her is just too much fun. She’s biting her lip and her cheeks are still flushed from her orgasm, looking up at him again. He’s teasing her, holding his head right at her entrance, soaked in her wetness.

“I fucking love you, Betty Cooper,” he says. The words slip out before he gives it a second thought.

“I love fucking you, Jughead Jones,” she replies with a mischievous grin, pulling him up into her in his moment of weakness.

He wraps a hand around her throat, squeezing the soft skin and jerking it slightly so she’ll look up at him. Her big green eyes peer up at him and look at him with full pupils, somehow 100% love and 100% lust. He groans into her neck and gives in, pushing into her, unable to bother with making her beg. He had meant to be stern with her, but the way that she looks up at him, all obedience and compliance, his to take and damn it if he isn’t going to make her take it.

Her hands come to the sides of his face, pulling him down into a kiss, forcing his elbows to land on either side of her breasts and releasing his grip on her throat. She breaths deeply, her face slightly flushed and her eyes a little glassy. The site ignites something in him. He wants more. God, her tits looked good at this angle. He pushes into her again and she moans, deep and satisfied.

He moves his head to kiss the palms that cradle his face, pressing his lips against the faded scars there, licking the metal of her engagement ring. He pushes his body up onto his hands so he can lift her leg onto his shoulder.

She is his in this moment, her legs spread wide open for him, her hands that were in his hands moments before are back to the slats of their headboard. He pushes into her and they groan simultaneously, the angle driving him deeper than before.

The need to be stern with her was back, fully fledged and wiggling into his consciousness. A selfish part of him wanted to make her pay for how she’d ignored him, wanted to make her hurt like the way she could’ve hurt him. He wanted to punish her, and she wanted it too, wanted to be atoned for her sins, to pay in the most delicious ways for what she’d done.

He holds the ankle of the leg on his shoulder, her ass lifted off the bed. He was drowning in the need to consume her, he finds himself pushing into her harder, faster, egged on by her moans. He smacks the part of her ass he can get to and she gasps in response, clenching around him. They’re getting close, the both of them. Her second orgasm always comes on quickly and he can hardly help himself once she’s gotten there. He needs more.

“Get on top and ride me,” he says as he rolls her over. She’s flustered, trying to figure out how to move her body with his request, still dazed from her orgasm and the way his cock was pounding her.

She moans as she sinks down onto him, resting her hands on his chest for leverage as she moves up and down on his cock, breathing sexy little moans with each drop down on top of him. Her position pushes her tits together and he reaches up to tweak her nipple quickly, garnering a small squeak and a renewed speed. He tweakes the other one and she moves faster, sliding her hips up and down.

He needs her orgasm like he needs air and has a fleeting curious thought on how many times he could make her cum in a row. He bets that she’d love it. He wants to send her to that place.

“You’re such a little slut, you know that?” he eggs her on. “Can’t help but get wet when I pinch your nipples, when I put my hand around your throat.”

She moves faster and he pinches harder with one hand, holding her nipple tightly between his finger until she cries out and tries moves away, but then grinds harder down on him. He is gripping her chin with his hand, holding her between his forefinger and thumb. Her mouth opens in a moan as he thrusts up to meet her and he slips his finger into her mouth, making her gag slightly but she looks even more turned on after and now he needs to hold his breath in her hand, running the hand down her neck and squeezing. The look on her face is pure bliss.

“You like riding my cock, Betts?” he asks, putting his hand on her hips and moving her back and forth, “You’ve been working so hard, baby. Ride the stress away.”

She giggles breathily against the hand around her throat at how cheesy and overplayed his words sound but continues to move on top of him, her moans increasing in frequency and volume with each minute that passes. He releases her throat and presses his hand on her hips, squeezing tightly, thrusting up into her, gripping her so hard that he’s sure he’ll leave bruises on her sensitive skin. The other hand goes to squeeze hers, the diamond on her ring digs into his hand and makes him want to mark her as his own. He digs his fingers into her love handles, intent on leaving hand prints there as she cums.

“Such a good girl,” he primps her again.

“Juggy, please,” she moans as she slides down on him harder, releasing a gasp. He can tell how close she is. She’s so close, clenching around him, soaking wet, begging for her orgasm. “Please let me cum.”

“Beg for it, little slut,” he pushes. She’s so wet around him.

“Please, baby,” she whimpers between breathy moans and the sound of their skin coming together, “I need to cum so bad. I’ll be such a good girl and cum on your cock. Please.”

He decides to give her what she needs. He needs it too, he admits to himself, knowing that her edge will push him over too.

“Let go, baby,” he says as he reaches down between them to play with her clit. “Cum for me.”

He can feel her tightening around him, right there at the top of her pleasure, bound to hit the apex any second. She is coming undone on top of him, whimpering please over and over again and it feels like electricity buzzing in his head. She’s so close he can feel it and wonders fleetingly if this part of them is connected because it feels like her pleasure is his pleasure too.

He grabs her throat and holds it hard, taking her respiration under his fingers and rubbing her clit fast and hard. He’s talking to her, thrusting up into her, whispering dirty things as she rides him, how she’s such a slut for doing this, for liking his hand on her throat, and she’s so close that he needs it now.

She trembles around him, her back arching and the sweat on her forehead beading as she moans his name as she finishes on top of him, _Juggy,_ her breath struggling against his palm as she clenches and wiggles. His heart soars, the emotion and pleasure overwhelming him, pushing him there too. He’s spilling inside of her as she grips him, pumping him dry.

She collapses onto her arms and then onto his chest, her head resting against his heartbeat.

His hands fall to his side and he’s buzzing with the pleasure, completely spent and utterly content. She snuggles into his neck, breathing heavily, their inhales and exhales matching for a fleeting moment. He loves the weight of her body on top of him, how warm she is, how her body fits in with his. His perfect match.

“God, Juggy,” she chuckles, giving a cute little sigh.

“You okay?” he asks exhaustedly. He worries sometimes that he got caught up in the passion, gripped her neck or her hips too harshly, bit her nipples until they were too tender. He’s pretty sure that she’d tell him if she really wanted him to stop but sometimes he worries that he was too harsh. Most of the time he doesn’t, but feels better asking anyways.

“Better than okay,” she kisses his neck sloppily and he sighs, pressing a kiss into the damp hair of her forehead.

“Love you, Betts,” he says, his eyes drooping closed as he settles into the afterglow. He loves these moments, just being with her, weightless and floating in their own little world. He wonders if everyone feels like this when they have sex, or if this is something that you only get with your soulmate.

“Love you more, baby,” she whispers, “I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, peeking an eye open to see her peering at him with bright, clear eyes, the darkness in them having disappeared. “Really, it’s okay.”

 “I’ll try to be better,” she said softly, tracing patterns on his chest, “I need to tell you when I start to feel overwhelmed.”

“You do,” he admitted, “but I truly didn’t mind the way that this worked out.”

She laughed and snuggled further into his chest.

He loved her. Her loved her when she was sweaty and was still holding him inside of her. He loved her when she was absorbed with work or baking or house-hunting. He loved her when she was sixteen, with her tight ponytail and pink sweaters. He loved happy Betty the most, when her eyes were shining with laughter and her head tipped back, when she giggled and bumped his shoulder playfully, when she gave him the smiles that she saved just for him in these moments.

He kisses her forehead again and let himself melt into their bed, thanking his lucky stars that he got to love this woman forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I am in no way stating that sex can cure anxiety or that it takes the replacement of a professional's care – but also in my own experience with my own anxiety, an orgasm certainly never hurt anyone. Sorry ‘bout it. 
> 
> Also - does anyone have any Bughead requests? Shorter stories probably but I'd love to hear them! Maybe something sexy time? Lawwwwd knows I love some of that LOL


End file.
